


growing on me

by poindextears



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Chirping, Derek Nurse Is A Style Icon, Dex is so gay, First Kiss, Gardening, Getting Together, M/M, Neighbors, Passive-Aggressive Horticulture, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, forgive me bitty's valentines mods for i have committed a word count sin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22529047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poindextears/pseuds/poindextears
Summary: That’s it. Will is going to kill his neighbor. Derek may be beautiful, but sharing this garden is not working out.“Derek!”Derek pokes his curly head out the window of his apartment. “Are you seriously yelling at me from the backyard?”Will whirls around on his heel. “Your sweet peas are choking out my snap peas!”You've heard of Nursey and Dex reluctantly sharing a room, now get ready for the sharing-a-garden AU that no one asked for. Written for Bitty's Valentines 2020.
Relationships: Derek "Nursey" Nurse/William "Dex" Poindexter
Comments: 12
Kudos: 200
Collections: Bitty's Valentines Collection





	growing on me

_ May _

The best thing about the new apartment is that there’s a garden behind the building.

It’s not the  _ main _ reason Will chose to move here, exactly. But it did have some bearing on his decision. His old apartment was tiny, on the fourth floor of the complex, tucked into a dark corner with poor lighting and roaches and a leaky ceiling. He couldn’t so much as keep a houseplant alive in that place, much less any good spirits.

But for two years after college, it was all he could afford at his entry-level salary. His raise last fall put him in a better spot, and it led to this— renting out the bottom floor of a small house on the southwest side of Boston. The landlord says there’s another tenant moving in upstairs in about two weeks, but for now, Will enjoys the peace and quiet, the building all to himself. It has actual windows and floor space and sanitation that would pass inspection.

And… a garden out back.

It’s not the  _ most _ lush thing in the world. If he could even call the area out back a  _ backyard _ , it’s right in the center, amidst dingy grass full of brown patches that could use a proper irrigation system. The thing itself is a square patch of dirt, not the best soil but something he can definitely work with. It’s no more than ten feet across.

It’s not much. But if working in Boston means he can’t have the forest or the wide open sea or the yard his parents worked so hard to upkeep around the house he grew up in… then he can have a little garden.

So he resolves to bring the thing back to life.

*

It’ll be a vegetable garden, he decides, just like Ma always plants by the shed in the summer, because if there’s one thing that’s nice, it’s not having to buy your produce. He can envision it now— tomatoes on the left, cucumbers and summer squash under them, snap peas in the center, maybe autumn squash or pumpkins on the right side in a few weeks.

It’s the perfect summer project. When you spend all day working in front of a computer, a little dose of the outdoors in the afternoons is a nice balance.

He plants on a Saturday afternoon, donning his old work boots and a backwards snapback and stationing himself out back with Shep, who ambles around enjoying the mellow sun and napping on the patchy grass.

Shep is an Australian shepherd, or at least that’s what Will is pretty sure he is. Will adopted him by accident, after finding him on the street. His old apartment was no place for a dog, but he couldn’t stand to turn him into the shelter. It was another factor in his wanting to move out as soon as possible.

He’s shaking cucumber seeds into his dirt-stained hand when Shep lets out a little bark, not so much an alert noise but a happy one. Will grins as he hears him trot by, towards the house, and doesn’t look up from his seeds. “What’s up, Shep?”

But then, a voice. “‘Sup, doggy.”

Will whips his head over his shoulder, fearing for a moment that someone is trespassing on the property, but almost immediately he remembers the sounds of people going up and down the stairs this morning. The second tenant has moved in.

And here he is. After giving Shep a pat on the head, he makes his way across the yard and stops a few feet away.

“Oh, chill,” he says, laying eyes on Will for the first time. “Is this garden spoken for?”

Oh,  _ no _ .

He’s beautiful.

He’s tall, probably about Will’s size, and looks his age, too. He has light-brown skin that makes his lavender t-shirt look bright, and he wears a floral snapback atop an undercut that ends in floppy, dark curls. He has a jawline that could cut glass, and both of his arms are covered in sleeves of tattoos, mostly of what look like flowers.

He’s… holy shit. Will is  _ not _ mentally equipped to process  _ this _ right now. He’s not sure he’s ever seen a prettier man in his life.

It only occurs to Will after what must be a slightly awkward few seconds that the guy has asked him a  _ question _ , though.  _ Is this garden spoken for?  _ He tries to clear his throat, like he hasn’t just been staring blankly for the past several moments. “Some of it is.”

“Are you…” The guy pauses to scratch behind his neck, which is really  _ not fucking fair _ , because it means he has to flex his tattooed arm. And he’s, um. He’s jacked. “... planning on using the some of it that isn’t?”

Will  _ really _ hopes his face isn’t red. He weighs the implications of what the guy is asking, surveys the part of the garden he’s reserved for squash. If this guy wants to use the garden… so much for squash.

“I mean,” he says finally, “not if you want to use it.”

“Oh, chill,” says the guy, strolling the rest of the way up to him. He sweeps his eyes over Will’s patches of upturned soil and empty seed packets. “What are you planting?”

Will exhales. “Vegetables, mostly.”

The guy calculates for a second, then walks around the empty side of the plot. “Are you cool if I do flowers on the other side?” He spreads his hands out over the space like he can already imagine it. “Wildflowers, a trellis or two, maybe a rosebush.”

Truthfully, Will is not ‘cool’ with this. He doesn’t want to share the garden. He especially doesn’t want to share the garden with a beautiful hipster man who wears floral snapbacks and has sleeve tattoos. He  _ wants _ to plant squash. He was not informed that his new neighbor was, apparently, also a gardening person, not to mention the most beautiful man in Boston.

As much as he wants to say no, he’s not cool with it, he also knows that there’s this thing called common human decency, and that they’re both tenants on the same house, and that, unfortunately, this garden  _ technically _ belongs to both of them.

“That’s fine.”

The guy grins. His smile, infuriatingly, is just as gorgeous as the rest of him. His eyes are light— green or hazel, maybe. “Chill.”

Will is pretty sure he’s said  _ chill _ three times in the past five minutes, which is way too many times.

The guy kneels at the edge of the dirt. Shep, meanwhile, lies down next to the spot he’s chosen, among Will’s empty seed packets. Will pauses for a second, and he wonders if the guy will leave without entertaining further conversation. When he’s still looking at the garden after a moment, Will’s curiosity (and gay frustration) gets the better of him. “Are you the other renter?”

“Oh— yeah, sorry; yeah, I am,” he says, then adds, “I’m Derek. I just got here this morning.”

“Yeah, I heard you moving your boxes,” Will replies. “I’m Will. I live downstairs.”

Derek reaches to pat Shep on the head. “Is this your dog?”

“Yeah, that’s Shep.” Will pauses. Shep closes his eyes as Derek scratches his ears, like it’s an incredibly zen experience. Will adds, as if it were not obvious, “He’s friendly.”

“Hey, Shep.” Derek smiles. He has nice hands. “You’re a fluffy guy.”

Quiet falls in the backyard for a moment. Will mourns the loss of his prospective future squash. Derek smiles vaguely at the stolen patch of dry dirt.

“Well,” he mumbles. “I should probably get unpacking, but hey, it was nice to meet you.” He stands up, and when he smiles at Will, Will feels his stomach do an entire acrobatic routine.  _ Fuck _ , he’s beautiful. “I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, uh—” Will clears his throat again. He really really  _ really _ hopes he’s not blushing. “You, too. Nice to meet you.”

Little does he know that this is only the start.

*

_ June _

Derek plants in, like, four stages.

Will doesn’t understand his process, but he keeps seeing him outside, walking back and forth between the staircase that leads down from his apartment to the garden. He plants from seed, like Will does, except for this one time he carries a mini rosebush across the yard and puts it in the corner next to Will’s tomatoes. He puts a little wire trellis in the center, and his saplings start popping up about a week after Will’s do.

Will successfully avoids talking to him for a little while, aside from the occasional hello when leaving for work in the morning or when their watering times overlap. This is good, because avoiding talking to Derek means avoiding doing something stupid and embarrassing himself.

Then, one warm afternoon in early June, he lets Shep out and sees him go straight up to Derek, who’s watering his rosebush.

Will sighs from his open window. He could use to water anyways.

“Hey, Will.” Derek waves when he approaches, and Shep, thankfully, turns back from the enemy’s side to bound up to Will. “‘Sup?”

“Not much.” Derek is wearing a sun hat and Birkenstocks, and his curls blow in the gentle breeze. He’s ethereal, like a male Persephone. “Just came down to water.”

Will cringes at himself. Of course he’s here to water. He’s holding a watering can.

“Same.” Derek grins, ignoring Will’s stupidity. Will kind of wants to die, but he starts on his cucumber and tomato mounds anyway.

Just be calm. Be cool. He’s just a hot neighbor.

“So, new neighbor,” Derek says, all bravado. “I feel incomplete. I’ve shared a garden with you for two weeks and I don’t know anything about you.”

Will shrugs. “You know my name.”

Derek snorts. “Okay, Mr. Technical. Where are you from?”

“Maine.”

“Like, beach Maine or middle of nowhere Maine?”

“Northern coast Maine.” Will pauses, and almost feels a pang. He hasn’t been home since Christmas, and he misses it. “Near Bar Harbor.”

“Oh.” Derek pauses, then kind of snorts again. “It’s bold of you to assume I know where that is.”

“Well, where are  _ you _ from?”

“New York,” Derek says, which, really, Will should have been able to guess. “City, not state. I just moved up here.”

“Why did you move to Boston?”

“Work.” Derek pauses, then smiles at his rosebush. “I’m a magazine editor, but I just got promoted, so I relocated to the main office up here.”

“What kind of magazine?” Will asks, for no other reason but curiosity.

“Northeast Lawn and Garden.”

_ Oh my God.  _ Will might be actually blushing now. “Wait, seriously?”

Derek grins. The brim of his hat casts a shadow over his face. “You’ve heard of it?”

“Of course I’ve heard of it,” he replies. “My ma has been subscribed to that magazine since, like, 1995.”  _ And so have I, since I moved out _ , he thinks, but he doesn’t say it.

Derek laughs into the blue sky, and it’s a sweet sound. “Hey, that’s chill. I’m glad she enjoys it.”

There’s a brief quiet between them, and Will  _ could _ choose this moment to leave. His watering is technically done— the garden is so small that it’s low-maintenance— but there’s something about Derek that keeps him, something enticing that wills him not to go just yet.

Besides, it’s not like he has anything better to do.

So when Derek asks, “So what do  _ you _ do?”, he keeps the conversation going.

*

_ July _

The drive from home in Maine to Boston is long.

Four and a half hours, actually, and although he gets up bright and early at his parents’ house to come home this morning, it doesn’t go by any more quickly than it has in the past. He’s been visiting for the Fourth of July, and even though his brother and a few of his cousins can be prejudiced assholes, he loves his parents, and it feels nice to be home, to be someplace not quite so lonely.

When he and Shep get back to the apartment, it’s high noon, and Derek is outside in the garden.

Will discovers this because he goes to water his plants. They’re getting bigger every day, flourishing in the summer heat, but they’re also super thirsty all the time. Derek is in the same boat— he’s put in wildflowers and a hydrangea and his rosebush and his climbing things. The garden is a tangled mess, and it’s full of weeds.

Except the thing is… Derek is outside today, and… he has no business looking as good as he does.

His shirt, for starters, is a tank top, which leaves little to the imagination when it comes to his arms with all their muscle and ink. He’s also in running shorts, and his weird sun hat, and his skin shines in the sun, and he’s… he’s a lot.

Will has  _ talked _ to his neighbor, has gotten to know him a little when they’re both out here gardening at the same time. He has managed not to let his annoyance about sharing the garden be his guiding principle with regard to their interpersonal relationship. But still… Jesus fucking Christ. Derek is too much for him to handle.

He pulls his window open, and Derek seems to hear the sound, because he looks up from his flowers and waves.

“Will!” He smiles. “Hey, welcome home, dude! How was Maine?”

“It was fine.” Will pauses, tries to steady himself and maybe not just gape at the fact that he looks so fucking hot oh my  _ God _ stop being such a gay disaster  _ please focus _ . “How was your week?”

“Super chill.” Derek stands and steps back from the garden. “Hey, you should come down here. You have a  _ ton _ of flowers on your tomato plant.”

Shep paws at the door that leads to the backyard, as if to accentuate Derek’s invitation.

You know what? Fine. He needs to water anyway.

*

That’s it. Will is going to kill his neighbor.

Derek may be beautiful, but sharing this garden is not working out. Will’s beloved snap pea plants, having climbed the trellis, are starting to choke out before they bear actual snap peas. And the reason is that Derek’s sweet pea flowers are wrapping around them, turning them brown, tearing the life out of them.

“Derek!”

Derek pokes his curly head out the window of his apartment. “Are you seriously yelling at me from the backyard?”

Will whirls around on his heel. “Your sweet peas are choking out my snap peas!”

Derek snorts. “You’re the one whose plants hijacked my trellis, bro.”

“But they’re—” Will sifts through the plants gingerly, tries to distinguish between the flowered plant and the vegetable one. “They’re dying!”

“Uh, ch’yeah, because you’re encroaching on their territory.”

“The  _ snap _ peas are dying, not the  _ sweet  _ peas.” Will lets out an anguished sigh. “And the plants were so big—”

Derek, in his window, leans his cheek into his hand. He looks like a noblewoman in a play, in her castle while her suitor confesses his love from the streets below. “Looks like this garden just ain’t big enough for the two of us, Poindexter.”

Will groans again. “You’re an asshole,” he says. While Derek laughs at him from above, he points at him menacingly. “And if my peas die, I’m blaming  _ you _ for it.”

“I’ll happily take the blame,” Derek replies. “But they’re not gonna die.”

“Yeah.” Will bristles. “We’ll see.”

*

_ August _

The peas don’t die.

Nothing does, actually. The flowers and the vegetables grow  _ into _ each other, sure, but it’s more like reluctant cohabitation than beautiful cooperation. He and Derek work around each other well into the produce season, and Will vows never to agree to share the garden again. It’s a terrible idea. Derek’s flowers are everywhere, and there could’ve been so much more room for vegetables had he claimed the whole thing before he showed up.

The upside is getting to talk to him. He guesses.

Sunset is getting earlier, but tonight, Will heads out to gather tomatoes at golden hour. Derek is sitting in the grass next to his flowers, in his floral snapback, not really working in the garden but not leaving either. If anything, he’s soaking up the sun.

“Your tomatoes are huge,” Derek says, in lieu of a greeting. “They’re shading my rose.”

Will rolls his eyes and pulls a huge beefsteak off the vine. “The sun is on that side of the yard for half the day.”

“Oh, I’m impressed, not annoyed,” he replies. He looks down at something in his hands— he’s weaving a chain of his wildflowers together, by the stems.

He seems to notice Will studying what he’s doing, so he adds, “I’m making a flower crown.”

Will almost rolls his eyes again, but restrains himself. It’s exactly the kind of hippie shit he’d expect from Derek.

“Do you want one?” Derek continues. “You’d look cute.”

Will fully blushes. He yanks a tomato, hard, and nearly knocks over his entire plant and stake in the process. “No.”

“Okay.” Derek smiles, without a care in the world, and pulls his hat off to put the flower chain on his head. It looks, of course, perfect on him. “Then you can wear my hat.”

Will pauses with his hand in his cherry tomato stalk. “Beg your pardon?”

“Here.” Derek tosses him his snapback, and it lands in the grass by his feet. Then he adds, like it means nothing, “Bet it’d look good on you.”

Will has ascertained that Derek is bi— half because he has a shirt he said he got at NYC Pride that says  _ pretty fly for a bi guy _ in purple, blue, and pink, and half because he flirts with Will and then pretends like he’s not flirting. Will hasn’t disclosed his sexuality yet, for this reason. For all he knows, Derek could be like this with everyone else in his life.

He’s not in the business of getting hurt by pretty boys, especially not when they share a garden and a building with him.

“C’mon,” Derek urges, still smiling. “Just try it.”

Will bends over and picks up the hat. It’s white, with florals in pink and yellow and green. When he puts it on backwards, Derek falls into the grass and whistles.

“ _ Wow _ ,” he sighs at the afternoon sky. “I was right.”

“I’m keeping this,” Will says, matter-of-factly.

Derek beams. His flower crown falls crooked, daisies and cosmos and nasturtium among his curls. Will wants to kiss him, but can’t and doesn’t. “Be my guest.”

*

_ September _

It’s September, and the grass is green.

Will is picking the very last of the tomatoes off his vines. Some of them aren’t quite ripe yet, but rumor has it the season’s first frost could come tonight, and he doesn’t want to take any chances. While he’s piling them into a basket, he hears movement behind him, and he doesn’t even have to turn to know Derek is there.

“Hey, Will.”

“Hi.” Will pauses. The tomato he pulls next is completely green. “How’s it going?”

“It’s chill.” Derek sidles up next to him and investigates the tomatoes. Today, he’s in a cardigan, like he’s anticipating the cold. “Taking the last of the goods?”

“Yeah, I have to,” Will replies. “Or else the frost’ll get ‘em.”

“I know what you mean.” Derek gazes at his end of the plot. “I cut my last few bouquets earlier.”

Will glances at him sideways. “Do you, like, give them to people?”

He shakes his head. “No one to give ‘em to.” He pauses. “There’s one on my desk at work, then two in my apartment.” He folds his arms and looks at Will’s basket of green tomatoes, then meets his eyes and adds, “You could have one, though. If you wanted.”

Will chuckles. “I’m okay.”

“Well, the offer stands if you change your mind.”

Derek stands with him while he finishes gathering the tomatoes. He picks them slowly, like dragging out this small task will maximize on the time Derek chooses to spend with him before they both retreat into their apartments again.

Like always.

“So your last harvest,” Derek says. “Are you sad?”

Will shrugs. “No. Seasons change every year.”

“Yeah, I like the fall,” he replies, then nudges his arm a little as they walk back toward the building. “But hey, this might mean we won’t see as much of each other.”

“We live a floor away from each other,” Will mumbles, which. Are they friends? He’s pretty sure they are. They’ve spent an entire summer bickering and chatting and bonding over this garden. Derek even flirts with him. But he’s pretty sure friends-slash-neighbors is all they’ll ever be.

“I guess.” Derek pauses. Will hoists his tomatoes under his arm, and they meet eyes, and for a moment, Derek is looking back at him and Will’s stomach is butterflies.

He opens his mouth to say goodnight. And at the same time, Derek says, “Do you… wanna come upstairs for dinner or something?”

*

Derek’s apartment is somehow exactly what Will imagined it to be. There are gorgeous nature paintings everywhere— all Derek’s original art, apparently— and houseplants hanging in the sunny window. All his decor is the same brand of quasi-hipster, artist-aesthetic that dominates his wardrobe. There are a few pictures around; Derek points out one on the wall in his living room of himself with a well-dressed interracial couple who  must be his parents, and a teenage girl who looks like his sister.

They order Chinese takeout and eat in his living room, on a couch the same jade-green color of his eyes. Shep, to whom the invitation apparently extends, sits on the carpet below their feet, taking a nap in the wake of several treats given to him by Derek.

Will is hyper-aware of the fact that they grow closer on the couch every time one of them moves. By the time they’ve moved through a whole container of fried rice, several chicken wings, two beers each, and a few spring rolls, Derek’s thigh is pressed against his, and so is most of the rest of the side of his body, and Will’s stomach has been doing acrobatics for the past twenty minutes.

Outside, the world is long since dark. Will knows he should be getting home. But he’s so drawn to him, so rooted by this attraction, and for the first time he leans into it instead of shying away.

“Anyway,” Derek is saying, as Will polishes off his beer. “I think the problem with hockey is it’s generally not that inclusive.”

Will knew, like, theoretically, that Derek was a hockey player before tonight, but for the past twenty minutes, pressed against each other’s sides, they’ve been weighing the ups and downs of playing in college and the NHL and all the other things that it turns out they have in common. The thought of Derek on the ice is a lot to handle, especially with two beers in his system.

“It should be,” Will says, which is a super boring response, but Derek nods sagely like it’s a tidbit of irreplaceable wisdom.

“Agreed, man,” Derek says. Then he looks at Will’s empty bottle. “Can I get you another drink, or something?”

Will knows he should leave, or at least something in his subconscious is telling him he’s overstayed his welcome. But here Derek is, warm and close and talking with him, opening the door for what could be another hour, two hours, of close conversation on the couch like this.

And Will wants it. He wants him. However he can have him.

“Sure,” Will replies, and then, when Derek stands, gathering their bottles, he realizes just how cold it is when Derek’s not sitting against him. He watches him from his spot on the couch— God, he has a really nice ass, and he’s lost his cardigan, so the tattoos are on full display on both arms.

Will is in so deep.

“I’ll come with you,” he adds, on impulse, and Derek grins as he follows him to the kitchen.

“Sorry for all the greasy shit,” Derek says, reaching into his fridge. “And the beer.”

“What?” Will asks. His cheeks are warm. “It’s— why are you sorry?”

“I just usually eat and drink better than this.” He sets both beers down on the island in the middle of the kitchen. “Healthier, I mean. Next time you’re over, I’ll cook. It’ll be healthier. And better.”

_ Next time you’re over.  _ The words echo in his ears. They’re an answer— or at least part of one— to the question Will hasn’t even asked.

“Next time,” Will echoes.

Derek smiles, as if to assure him. “Ch’yeah. If you want.”

“I, uh.” Will is aware, all of a sudden, that they stand inches from each other, separated only by the corner of the counter, the two beers on the table below them.

“I do want,” he says, and Derek answers the second half of the question when he kisses him.

It’s a soft, tender thing, and Will would be lying if he said he hasn’t been thinking about what this would feel like for weeks on months. Derek’s lips are full and hands are careful as he takes Will’s face in them, and when Will kisses him back, it’s a resounding yes that echoes between them both. He catches his hand in the crook of Derek’s elbow, and Derek kisses him a second time in a way that feels so very sure of himself.

“Yeah?” he whispers, when they pause to breathe.

Will nods too rapidly. “Yeah,” he says, and it comes out nearly as a sigh, but they’re kissing again before he can dwell on it long enough to care. Derek rubs a thumb at his cheek, and Will reaches until he can take a soft handful of his curls, and he has been thinking about this for  _ so long _ .

They stumble halfway against the counter, and Will pulls away to laugh. “Be careful,” he tells him.

“Trust me,” Derek hums, and the tone of his voice makes his stomach flutter. The next kiss is deeper, and he lets Will pin him a little against the edge of the counter. Will gets so lost in his mouth that it takes him a moment to register that this is actually  _ happening _ , that he’s kissing this beautiful man in his kitchen, and how long has he been thinking about what this might feel like, wanting this in ways he can barely admit to himself.

Derek’s left hand finds his hip, the hem of his shirt, and he pushes gently at Will’s skin with his thumb. Will, pathetically, almost shudders, and Derek must sense it, because immediately he pulls away from his lips and murmurs, “You okay?”

“Yes,” Will manages, and Derek’s thumb is still on his hip, so he adds, “I’m very okay with this.”

Derek pauses. A grin quirks on his lips, and he kisses Will again, softly, then asks, “Do you… wanna go somewhere more comfortable, maybe?”

Will nearly chokes in his scramble to ask, “Like where?”

Derek is quiet for a second. Then his eyes dart somewhere beyond Will, and he suggests, like it’s no big deal, “Like my room?”

“ _ Oh _ ,” Will says, and he was more than half expecting it but to hear it out loud sends a thrill of desire into his stomach. He nods. He leans to kiss him again. Derek catches him in the kiss and he hopes abruptly that he’s not underwhelming at this.

Derek is still smiling. He speaks against his mouth. “Is that a yes?”

It’s the most resounding yes in the world.

*

In the morning, Will wakes with the sun.

It’s unusual because he  _ never _ sleeps in. It’s even more unusual because it takes him at least an extra second to remember that he’s not in his own bed. He rolls over and collides with a warm, tattooed body, and feels curls brushing at his chin, and all at once, he remembers.

_ Derek. _

He’s a sight to be seen in the morning glow. His hair is a floppy mess, and his face is only inches from Will’s on the pillow, a little imprint of the pillowcase on his cheek. On his neck rest a few maroon bruises in the shape of Will’s mouth, left by his prompting sometime the night before. Their limbs tangle together, skin on skin from the top down, and Will is vaguely aware of the fact that his left arm is completely asleep because it’s lodged under Derek’s torso, but—

But last night was a bliss he’s not quite sure he’s ever known anything like, and he can close his eyes and remember all the ways that Derek touched him, and he  _ slept _ here— he’s not sure he meant to fall asleep here, even if what happened right before that couldn’t have gone better.

Slowly, Will pulls his arm out from under Derek’s torso, and when he doesn’t stir, he sits up in bed and swings his legs off the edge of the mattress. He’s sore at the hips, but in a good way. He also knows he’s  _ definitely _ overstayed his welcome by now, and should probably get back to his place.

He’s hunting for his boxers in the pile of their clothes on the floor when he hears his voice.

“Wiiiiiiill.”

He looks over his shoulder. Naked and bathed in light, Derek is smiling at him, the sheets wrapped halfway around his waist. He extends one arm. His morning voice is raspy, soft, and kind of sexy. “Come back in bed.”

“Back in—” Will pauses, with his boxers in his hand. “Are you sure?”

“I’m positive.” Derek stretches his hand out until Will takes it, and he knees himself back up onto the mattress tentatively. Derek snakes his arms around him like vines and pulls him back down into him, into the sheets and the warmth of his skin. When he presses a soft kiss to his mouth, it’s full of morning breath.

_ I want this _ , Will realizes.  _ I want this all the time. _

“Stay,” Derek tells him.

“Are you sure?” Will repeats.

He kisses him again, but this time his lips land toward the side of Will’s mouth. “I have nothing to do today.”

“Neither do I,” Will replies.

Derek smiles. “Good.” He pauses. “Can I make you breakfast?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” Will says. He stares at his lips. Is this happening?

It really is happening.

“But not yet,” he adds.

Derek laughs into a kiss.

They stay in bed all morning.

*

_ December _

It snows on moving day.

This doesn’t inhibit moving itself all that much— after all, all it takes is walking down a flight of stairs to get Derek’s stuff into his apartment. It’s the first real snow of the season, and it blankets the yard and the dormant garden in gentle white.

Most of the hard work is done. Derek’s apartment is cleared, and some other tenant will probably move in eventually, but there are no buyers yet. All his stuff is distributed around Will’s, and there are still a few boxes, but they’ve made a good, productive day of the unpacking.

It was the natural next step. Will is more serious about this relationship than he’s been about anything in his life.

Derek sidles up next to him at the window and drops a kiss at the back of his neck. Will feels his hands, firm but tender, as they wrap around his waist. “Hi,” Will murmurs, running a hand along the inked flowers on his forearm.

Derek yawns, pressing against his body from behind. “Hey, babe.”

“How’s it going?”

“I’m tired.” As if to prove his own point, he yawns again, lips warm as they stretch against his skin. He kisses up to his cheek, no doubt tracing a trail of Will’s freckles.

“Takeout tonight?” Will murmurs, tilting his head against his.

“Definitely.”

Derek rests most of his weight against him, and for a moment, they’re quiet. Behind them somewhere, Will hears Shep amble across the floor, flop down in his usual spot on Will’s couch.

Then Derek perks up a little, lifts his head. When Will meets his eyes, there’s a smile quirking on his lips.

Will smiles, too. It’s hard not to, when Derek looks at him like that. “What?”

Derek cocks his head to the window and asks, “Does this mean we can have joint custody of the garden?”

Will laughs. He nods. “I guess it does.”

“Mm.” Derek moves to rest his forehead on his. “Will you still bitch at me about your snap peas?”

Will kisses him— once, softly. “You can be sure of it.”

“That’s what I thought.” Derek kisses him again, and the world melts away.

*

Come springtime, the garden flourishes.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm Mel! [Come hang out](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


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